


Executive Suite

by ThirtySixSaveFiles



Category: Borderlands, Borderlands the pre-sequel, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5009425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has to be Jack's bed, in the end. And it's not like the executive suite is a hardship.</p><p>That doesn't mean there aren't difficulties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Executive Suite

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble that got out of hand. Unbeta'd.

It has to be Jack’s bed, in the end. Rhys’ tiny Hyperion-issued mattress can barely fit his lanky frame, let alone anyone else’s, and Timothy refuses to let Jack into his quarters even though “you know I own every inch of this station, including your handsome ass, right sugar? That’s registered for you?” So when the three of them are together it has to be Jack’s bed.

And it’s not like the executive suite is a hardship. The bed is big enough for even three tall men to stretch out comfortably because “this isn’t my first rodeo, kids, if you know what I’m saying. ...do you know what I’m saying? I’m saying I like sex, is what I’m saying.”

That doesn’t mean there aren’t difficulties.

“Sorry, Rhysie’s mine for the evening.” Jack pulls Rhys back against his chest, away from Timothy. “I need him over here to sleep well. Comfort object, you know how it is. Get your own.”

Timothy scowls. “He’s not yours.” Jack huffs into Rhys’ hair. “Let go.” Timothy pulls on Rhys’ arm, but Jack just tightens his grip.

“Oh my God, you _children_.” Rhys pulls himself out of Jack’s arms and clambers out of the bed, accidentally-on-purpose elbowing Jack in the stomach as he goes. Once out, he puts his hand on his hip and glares at the other two.

“You two sort out whatever kind of pissing match you have going on. Until then, I am sleeping on the couch.” Rhys grabs the coverlet and drags it after himself as he marches out, his triumphant exit marred only by Jack calling after him, “if there’s a pissing match, I am definitely winning!”

Rhys settles onto the couch, pulling the coverlet over himself. His muscles ache pleasantly - for all that Timothy and Jack snipe at each other constantly, they are a force to be reckoned with in bed - but the couch seems cold without a warm presence on either side. He’s finally drifting off to sleep when he feels a weight settle on the couch by his legs. Rhys opens his eyes to see Timothy, looking apologetic.

“Sorry you got caught in the middle. Literally.” Timothy rubs at the back of his head, shoulders hunched. It’s a strange thing - he wears Jack’s face, and yet in this moment he looks utterly unlike the Handsome Jack that rules over Helios. “It’s just...Jack, you know?”

“Yeah,” Rhys says, smiling as the tension visibly drops out of Timothy. “I know.” He does know. And he’s still here, even if he’s currently on the couch, and whatever that says about him is not something Rhys wants to examine at this hour of the night. Or possibly ever.

Rhys scoots back and raises the coverlet, letting Timothy crawl under and press up against him. Rhys feels like they’ve just gotten settled, his head against Timothy’s shoulder, when there’s a throat cleared at the end of the couch. Rhys opens one eye to see Jack, arms folded over his bare chest, frowning down at them.

“Are either of you idiots coming back to bed?” Jack demands. Rhys shuts his eye again.

“Nope,” Rhys replies. “We’re quite comfortable out here, thanks.”

Jack grumbles something to himself that Rhys can’t quite catch, and Rhys expects to hear Jack stomp back to the bedroom. Instead, Jack says “ugh, _fine_ ,” in tones so put-upon Rhys would think he’d been asked to leave work on time for once. There’s a faint electronic beeping, and then the entire couch shudders. Rhys’ eyes shoot open just in time to see Jack close a panel in the arm of the couch, and then the couch is _moving_ , the back folding down and the arms rearranging themselves.

Rhys bolts upright, and feels Timothy do the same, but the couch has already finished re-assembling itself into its new shape which resembles...a good-sized bed in the middle of the living room. Jack is already crawling in beside Rhys, face smug.

“Did your...did your couch just transform into an entirely different piece of furniture?”

“Sure did, buttercup.” Jack takes the opportunity to put his cold toes on Rhys’ leg and Rhys yelps. “Gotta be prepared, if you know what I mean.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Timothy and Rhys, and Rhys can’t help it, he laughs and lets himself be pulled back down. Timothy settles in beside him and Jack drapes a proprietary arm over the both of them. Rhys lets himself be lulled by their warmth, and his eyes are just drifting shut when:

“Do you know what I mean? I mean that -”

“Oh my God, _go to sleep_.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [thirtysixsavefiles](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!


End file.
